


NyteRyder

by NeverwinterThistle



Series: Extraterrestrial Bromance [2]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Loyalty Mission, M/M, NyteBlayde has fallen and it's time to party, Saints Row IV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officially, everything went to shit around the time Zinyak decided to gatecrash Matt's "finest simulation ever written" without the requisite apology offering of alcohol and strippers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	NyteRyder

**Author's Note:**

> Look, so, I'm really terrible at replying to comments, because I have no idea how to properly express how grateful I am that people read a thing I wrote. In lieu of responses I've written a sequel to Puckish Rogue; I hope it's a good enough substitute! This is for the wonderful people who commented/left kudos, and just generally made me very happy indeed. Thank you.
> 
> I stole the title directly from Matt Miller's very canon NyteBlayde slashfic. I'm not even kidding.

Officially, everything went to shit around the time Zinyak decided to gatecrash Matt's "finest simulation ever written" without the requisite apology offering of alcohol and strippers. But honestly, things were going south way before the alien interference. It was just never going to end well.

Half way through the simulation, he realises he's probably going to have to kill NyteBlayde.

 

It's not like he has any kind of inferiority complex; he's the fucking _President of the United States_ , and anyway, it's not about size, but what you do with the gifts nature gave you. So it definitely doesn't bug him that NyteBlayde is running around with two long swords, while he made the executive decision to bring the trusty tentacle bat into battle with him. Upgraded and everything, so cars go _flying_ when he hits them, and he can't help but notice he's doing at least twice the damage of fucking _NyteBlayde_ -

which doesn't explain why Matt can't seem to take his eyes off the guy.

 

Not a competition. The Boss swings his wriggling tentacle, and five people ( _fucking count 'em NyteBlayde, FIVE_ ) go flying and don't get back up again.

"Shouldn't have fucked with the President!" he hollers at their unmoving corpses, and turns to find that they were the last of the Cardinal's goons. Which would put him way ahead if anyone was counting kills, but Matt's too busy sprinting for the car with an enthusiasm he never shows when they drive around the simulation. Looks like he doesn't want his _idol_ leaving him behind.

 

 "What, we have to follow him again? Are you- _no_ I don't think I'll have trouble keeping up! Hands off the wheel, I'm driving."

 

The Boss considers accelerating a little too rapidly and accidentally ramming the back of NyteBlayde's bike, just to see if he'll scream like a little kid while flying head first over the handlebars...but that would be really fucking petty, and he's going to be an adult about this. Matt's story, Matt's simulation, Matt's interpretation of the character. Obviously the kid's going to be a little biased in his behaviour. Totally understandable.

 

Can't fault his enthusiasm at least. Matt chatters on about love interests and tragic backstories, and in all honesty it doesn't sound that bad. Pathetically clichéd,  criminally overacted, and probably written by a family of chimps who couldn't plot their way out of a paper bag- but hey, what's new. No such thing as quality literature these days.

"-but he was forced to walk away, stating, 'After losing Sylvia, I can never love again.'" Matt says, and the Boss makes sure to turn away before rolling his eyes.

 

"Ooh, that's a good line." He does try to sound honest about it. With Matt so fucking excited, so _hungry_ for any kind of acceptance of this thing he's enthusiastic about, anything else would be cruelty. And he tends to save the sadism for his enemies.

"One of the finest ever written," Mat says dreamily.

 

Of course, the second they start actually _bonding_ something has to go wrong. It wouldn't be enough for them to just work through Matt's threadbare plot and give him a glorious resolution with his handshake from NyteBlayde, or whatever reward he wrote in. A hug maybe, if the kid was feeling ambitious. Something to make him feel good about himself, because god knows there's not all that much to be happy about on their spaceship home away from home. They coulda killed a few more zombies, beaten this Cardinal guy, and then he'd have made sure Matt remembered that however great his simulated idol might be, he has a real man ready and waiting for him whenever he's keen. Simple pleasures.

 

Fucking, _fucking_ Zinyak.

 

"We could have been such close friends, Matt!" NyteBlayde says; it's like watching someone kicking a goddamn puppy, if the puppy had big blue eyes and the most pathetically shattered look on its face- "But you stabbed me through the heart! Metaphorically."

 

At the Boss' side, Matt's face turns a bright tomato red, and it's fifty-fifty as to whether he's going to curl up on the pavement and bawl his eyes out or have some sort of existential crisis and shoot himself.

"Uh, Matt-"

 

Or, you know, there's always option three, which apparently consists of giving a fucking psychopathic wolf-howl and pulling a shotgun out of _nowhere,_ brandishing it like he means to cause some serious carnage. Might be twitching slightly too, but the Boss isn't getting close enough to check.

 

Matt starts laying into the Cardinal's goons and any pedestrians stupid enough not to run for their lives, so he turns his attention to keeping NyteBlayde out of the way until they can work out a poetic way to kill the guy. Stake him to death with a fence post. Behead him with one of this own swords and mount his stupid face somewhere _real_ visible. Set him on fire and dance a tango on the ashes.

 

He can't help but turn to watch as Matt abandons reloading his shotgun in favour of just bashing people's faces in with it. Turns out he's fucking _beautiful_ when his dreams are being crushed like ants beneath Zinyak's heel. Less smug computer nerd, more wild-eyed, death-dealing computer nerd. It's a nice change, he could get seriously used to this.

"We are going to get Zinyak for this!" Matt screams, and the Boss politely beats down the armed woman he didn't notice sneaking up on him. Because even though they're enemies now and he's throwing fucking _cars_ at their heads, the fucking _Cyber God_ still can't seem to take his eyes off NyteBlayde for long enough to get himself to cover.

"Sure, for _this_." He switches out a pistol and gets in a few headshots; Matt's precious vampire idol stumbles. "You know, because up until now Zinyak's crimes haven't been that bad."

 

"You're not taking this seriously!"

 

This time he makes sure Matt sees him rolling his eyes, as if it'll make a difference. "I'm trying to save our lives, Matt. Jesus. If you could get off my back for long enough to make sure we survive this simulation _you_ dragged me into?"

 

"I didn't- I never meant- I don't want to fight you, NyteBlayde!"

 

It's becoming clear that soul-destroying fury aside, Matt's just not going to be able to kill his idol. And that's...actually not a problem. Almost a bonus even, because the Boss' gun hand's been twitching since he first met NyteBlayde. So, both his hands. Shame there are too many Cyprian Order goons around to make slow, drawn-out strangulation an option.

Johnny would tell him to just kill the guy, already. And when is Johnny Gat ever wrong about anything?

 

"The immortal embrace empowers me!" NyteBlayde roars in yet another example of what is possibly the worst voice-acting ever to be inflicted on poor, unsuspecting Steelport. Seriously, how the hell does this guy's show have such a huge fanbase? More to the point, how is it that nobody put a hit out on him before now? Looks like Kinzie's been slacking; the Boss makes a mental note to ask her about that, in his capacity as President. No way she's getting her annual bonus _this_ year.

 

"How about I _empower_ you into an early grave, huh? Quit bouncing around like a fucking yoyo and come fight me on the ground! Coward!"

 

Bit of a gamble, but it turns out NyteBlayde is every bit as cliché-riddled as he appears. Implying he can't hold his own without superpowers is on par with calling his dick undersized in that it gets the desired combination of righteous fury and pathetic defensiveness. More to the point, it gets him on the ground.

_God you're predictable. Like a walking cardboard cut-out. Watch me blow holes in you, pretty boy, before I move on to Zinyak himself._

"Watch my back, Matt. I've got me a vampire that needs slaying."

 

Matt responds with something that might have been "Don't make him suffer!", though he's not really listening and has no intention of obeying anyway. Screw giving this asshole a proper _heroic_ death. Who the hell does he think he is?

 

The tentacle bat is too good for NyteBlayde, so he switches out a pistol and lets loose. Looks like vampirism doesn't do a thing to improve really shitty aim, or maybe he's just upgraded his health to the point where he doesn't even feel his opponent's bullets. Either way, it's NyteBlayde who ends up ducking for cover behind overturned cars, shouting about how immortal he is while the Boss responds with increasingly unlikely sexual suggestions. He gets to break out some really good ones too; there's a savage grin spreading across his face, and for a moment he imagines Johnny's laughter in his ears.

 

_Show this motherfucker he ain't got nothing on the Saints, Boss! Make him fucking cry!_

_I hear you, Johnny._

 

Then it's just the two of them; man and vampire, and a pistol apiece, but the Boss isn't the one swaying on his feet. NyteBlayde crumples under a few more bullets, mumbling some bullshit about "mere humans". Like it's an insult.

 

"Oh yeah? You wanna see what this 'mere human' can do to you, huh? I can do that, I can _accommodate_ your demand for you." He kicks NyteBlayde's gun away and stomps hard on the fingers that reach for it. Vampire or not, the guy's bones break just like anyone else's. "I look at Zinyak and his aliens, the way they've covered this place in their colours so you never forget who's in charge. I look at them and I look at you, and you know what I see? You know whose colours you're wearing?"

 

He kneels by NyteBlayde's head. "I'm the President, you bloodsucking asshole, look at me when I'm talking to you." _Or look down the barrel of the gun I'm shoving in your face. Works for me._ "You're in red. Loren's colour. Flying a Morningstar flag, as far as I'm concerned. And that means I'm gonna take _you_ , and all your alien buddies down, and set your twitching remains alight in Johnny Gat's name. You understand? _You fucking hear me_?"

 

It might be an apology that NyteBlayde tries to mumble, or maybe he just wants to beg for his worthless life; neither really matters, and the Boss doesn't wait around to listen.

"Here's to you," he says quietly, and blows the vampire's brains out.

_I'm making them pay. I'm making them all pay, like I promised I would. The Syndicate, and Morningstar, they're all gonna-_

_ah, shit. They're dead already. Shit, shit, shit._

 

The Boss stands over what's technically just a bunch of NyteBlayde-shaped code, and breathes. Went a little too far back there, he can feel it. The man at his feet isn't Morningstar, and he sure as fuck isn't Loren. This can't keep happening. The President can't afford to let his demons out to play whenever he gets mad.

Matt shouldn't have to see them either. "I think we're done here," he calls, and works to make it sound casual. It wouldn't fool Pierce or Shaundi, but Matt's not exactly people-savvy. "Unless some asshole writer decides to retcon his death, that is."

 

Matt appears at his shoulder to stare down at the body. Can't quite believe it's real, from the looks of it; probably wishes it wasn't.

"It's done," he says distantly. "NyteBlayde has fallen."

"Sorry things ended this way."

 

_Nobody points a gun at me and lives to tell their buddies about it. And dressing him in that much red was a fucking stupid idea anyway; lucky his costume department went up in smoke with the rest of Earth._ He doesn't mention any of that though, because there was this one time a few years back when Shaundi sat him down and gave him a talk about _tact_ and _exercising a bit of empathy so you don't come across as a heartless asshole_...And maybe she thinks it all went in one ear and out the other, but she'd be wrong.

 

He waits for Matt to have his little moment, shed a few tears, maybe say something deep and meaningful or whatever, and entertains himself with imagining how great a stuffed and mounted NyteBlayde would have looked in the entrance to their old crib. What are the chances Shaundi dated a taxidermist? Or, hey, since it's simulation, maybe he could have a word to Kinzie about it.

 

It's possible that could also be misconstrued as insensitive. He'd better check first. Maybe if he just took the head, like a hunting trophy. Those are usually acceptable, right?

 

Zinyak blathers on in the background about 'honest critique' and 'compelling narrative', and the Boss mentally adds _fucking sore loser_ to the list of reasons why this alien needs to die slowly. It's getting kinda long, and he's tired of waiting.

Matt is in agreement. "Let's get out of here. I can't stand the way this has turned out."

 

Something about the...sheer fucking _disappointment_ in his voice is just the icing on the really shitty cake, and the Boss has had enough. Forget the list, forget coming up with shiny new ways to humiliate NyteBlayde post-mortem. This is _Matt's_ mission, and the kid ought to have something nice to make up for how it all turned out. He didn't even get a hug from his idol, for god's sake.

"Not until you get your powers," the Boss says, and hopes to all that's holy that he's understood how this part of the simulation works. "I figure you've more than earnt them."

 

"Powers? How would I-" and then something seems to click. "You mean from NyteBlayde?"

 

_Okay, I can do this. How many fucking speeches has Ben written for me over the last five years? It's not so hard. Just- don't screw this one up. It matters._ He clears his throat.

"The fight against the creatures of the night and the fellows that turned on him must continue, Matt." And then, to show that he can ham it up just as much as NyteBlayde himself, he drops it to a dramatic whisper. "Don't let Franklyn Nyte have died in vain."

 

Ben would have torn his speech up, punched him, and then made him start over and do it properly this time. Matt just gives him this look like... well, it's kinda hard to describe. He remembers seeing a similar look on his own face, reflected in the giant robot's shiny, _shiny_ armour the first time he saw it.

"So, you do understand?"

 

_Yeah, I get it. Think I just accidentally became your giant robot. Shit._

Granting Matt full control over the NyteBlayde franchise isn't going to help the situation any, and in the long run it's probably going to cause them some really serious problems- but he finds himself low on fucks to give. It makes Matt deliriously happy, and for once he gets to be the good guy. Given that his alternatives are commenting on Matt's new outfit ("Wow, Matt, look, I know I won't stand for any shit about purple being a less than manly colour, and I don't mean to stereotype or anything, but-") it's probably better he doesn't deviate from the _benevolent leader_ script.

 

Matt keeps giving him these really unsettling _glowing_ looks, and the worst of it is he can't stop himself from laughing at the whole fucked up situation. This probably counts as a bonding moment. Matt's happy, he's happy, NyteBlayde is dissolving into little golden fragments of data at their feet, and he really, _really_ wants to go set some shit on fire in celebration.

 

They should get on that immediately.

 

"There's some Zin troops nearby that could use a spot of brutal murdering, if you're keen? Come on, you know you want to try out your awesome new powers."

 

He feels his grin fading a bit as Matt shakes his head. "Actually, there's something I have to do back on the ship. You go ahead without me."

 

"...you're kidding, right? I mean, you can leap tall buildings in a single bound! Throw cars at your enemies, _control their fucking minds-_ "

 

"Oh, I'm sure I'll have a chance to try all that later. This is higher on my list of priorities."

 

"What could be more important than hanging out with me? We were having a moment, Matt, don't go breaking my heart just yet."

 

Matt actually snorts with laughter. "No amount of emotional blackmail is going to ruin _my_ day at this point. I'll see you soon Boss." And he fucks off without another word to do whatever he considers more important than _team building_.

 

"See that, Ben? That is what you get when you try to be _accommodating_." He keeps a running monologue up during the short flight to the Zin outpost, where his tentacle bat makes an extra savage reappearance. "Just when you start to think you might be...forming a _connection_ ," he swings hard enough to cave in a Zin skull and send the body flying, "People decide they've got...better things to do than hang out with you, now the _important_ shit is done." Throw fireball, and _charge_. "It's like nobody appreciates the simple things in life anymore. Everyone's in such a goddamn rush, there's no...room in the schedule to just spend time together-"

 

If Ben has anything to add, he doesn't make an appearance to do so. Nobody else shows up to join in the fight either, and the Boss figures he isn't desperate enough to beg for company just yet. He clears the area of Zin and watches with no small amount of satisfaction as the glowing red lights turn a soothing shade of blue. Purple would be better, but apparently it'd be too much work to change it; he zoned out when Kinzie started explaining why.

 

Anything is better than red.

 

Eventually a Warden shows up to play; he takes his time about killing it. Bouncing around the simulation with an alien dinosaur hot on his heels is always entertaining, and his new favourite game is pretending the things are reincarnations of Killbane. Makes crisping them up with fireballs _so_ much more fun. He feels like Angel would have approved.

 

One dead Warden later, simulated Steelport is peaceful once more, and it's too much of a hassle to start trouble all over again just to summon himself another one.

"Kinzie? I'm heading back to the ship now, I assume you don't have anything urgent you need done first?" There's no response. "Matt? You there?"

_Ah, fuck it. I need a beer and a couple of games of pool with Pierce; has to be around evening by now, or whatever passes for it. We're done here._

Things are never that simple, of course.

He opens his eyes to find himself under close scrutiny from over by the stack of boxes Pierce holds poker games on. Arms crossed, Matt stares at him with something that isn't irritation, or exhaustion, or even that special ' _Asha's had me building simulations all day while you were off wrecking Zinyak's Steelport adventure park, so now I'm going to give you boring tasks in revenge_ ' look he's gotten really good at. This is different. Intense.

 

"You okay there?" He steps out of the harness carefully, but it looks like whatever cure Kinzie pulled out of nowhere is still working; there's no trace of nausea to be found. _Bless that girl_.

 

"You gave me control over the NyteBlayde franchise," Matt says. He unfolds his arms and then seems to forget what he was going to do with them. "I thought for a while you'd humour me for the duration of the mission and then turn me into the laughing-stock of the ship."

 

"What makes you think I won't?"

 

"You understood. You said the narrative was _compelling_ , and you meant it. I just- I didn't expect you to care."

 

The Boss stretches gingerly, wincing as his joints crack. They're going to need some kind of ship-wide exercise regime at this rate, before staying still for so long drives him stir-crazy. "Yeah well, I'm a man of many surprises. For what it's worth, I'm sorry Zinyak ruined your story; it wasn't actually all that bad. Can't go wrong with zombies."

 

"I appreciate that you kept that god-awful tentacle bat well away from me this time."

 

"What can I say, I like my kneecaps." There's something weird going on here. Not anything he could put a finger on, but if he had to guess he'd say it feels like- a warning. The calm before the storm, or that moment when the air stands still before everything erupts into gunfire and chaos. His fingers twitch, but he's unarmed. Who the _fuck_ thought that'd be a good idea? Nobody listened at the White House, and nobody listens here either. What does he have to do to make sure there are weapons caches every few metres, all the goddamn time?

 

_Hey, slow down. Breathe. We're all friends here._

 

As far as he can tell, Matt doesn't have a weapon. And there's no reason to think he's about to go completely psycho. They're _crew_ now, he did the stupid vampire mission and they should be able to trust each other. That's how it works.

 

The stare is getting eerie. "So, uh, I'll just be going then. Feels kinda late, and I need the full eight hours if I want to stay this beautiful..." He turns to the exit.

 

"Don't bother. I locked both doors, and looped the feed to Kinzie's cameras. She'll probably discover that eventually but for the time being we'll remain undisturbed."

 

"Oookay. That's not creepy at all. Do we need to have a talk about how unhealthy it is to be around me when I start feeling threatened? 'Cause when people lock me up I tend to get a little...antsy. And you don't ever want to meet me when I'm in that kind of zone."

 

"What? Oh no, I'm not- this isn't a threat. I just wanted to be _certain_ this went unwitnessed by the rest of the crew." His eyes dart to the doors as if Kinzie might walk in at any second. She doesn't, and Matt seems to draw a measure of confidence from that. "Come here, please."

 

"Matt? What the hell is this about?" But he does as Matt asks, if only because it might be a matter of putting the kid into a headlock until he agrees to open the damn doors. They're about the same height. Normally it's hard to tell, with all the time Matt spends cringing when people get a little too loud around him. Now he looks the Boss dead in the eyes, like he actually believes he's completely safe.

 

"You gave me _full control over NyteBlayde_. Do you- can you even begin to understand what that means? I realise you once referred to it as a 'shitty vampire show-'"

 

"Yeah, five years ago! Jesus Christ, how do you even remember that?" More to the point, what is going _on_ here? He feels like he's missing some key piece of the puzzle, but to hell with asking for an explanation.

 

Matt closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them he looks...determined. Like there's no going back from whatever he's decided. "I recorded our battle in cyberspace. At the time it was mostly so I'd be able to rewatch your inevitable failure and brain-death whenever I needed cheering up, but of course that didn't happen. You defeated me. You made it look as simple as _breathing_. After I joined MI6, Asha suggested I study the encounter to familiarise myself with my own weaknesses but- that didn't quite work out as she intended."

 

"How come?" But he gets it now. He _understands_ the way Matt swallows nervously, the way he keeps glancing over the Boss' shoulder at the doors. _Sweet, sweet Matt. You could have just asked._

 

"I dreamed of you," Matt says unsteadily. He rests a tentative hand on the Boss' chest, covering up the spacesuit's Zin logo. "Not- not of you murdering me, as I still sometimes do with Killbane, but...look, do you really need me to go into detail, or can I just tell you that I'd very much like to shag you now and _not_ be laughed at?"

 

He could be merciful, but that would be a whole lot less entertaining than watching Matt Miller squirm. "I think I'm gonna need you to go into detail. Just to make sure we're on the same page, avoid misunderstandings -"

 

"I am _not_ going to be responsible for further inflating your ego. Just- shut up and kiss me before I come to my senses and decide I'd be better off playing Robot Unicorn Attack in a supply closet somewhere. Please."

 

"Kids these days; you're so _impatient_."

He grabs Matt by the hips to keep him from going off to sulk, and gets to work on kissing the frown from his face. Not so hard; he clearly wants to be here, hasn't quite worked out that he doesn't have to stage a fucking _seduction_ any time he's horny. But they'll work it out. Won't be long until Matt starts cornering him all over the ship, if he has his way. He remembers vividly what it was like being twenty-one.

 

" _I'm_ the impatient one, am I?" Matt says as the Boss eases off for long enough to pull the ridiculous blue tie over his head and toss it aside.

 

"Swear to god I'm gagging you next time."

 

"Not a chance." And then Matt's crowding up against him, his mouth getting clumsy as he fumbles with the zipper on the Boss' spacesuit and tugs it down as far as it'll go.

_Knew you'd learn quickly, kid._

 

The second his chest is exposed, Matt goes straight for the octopus tattoo, drags his tongue across it like he just can't help himself. _You know, we could get you one of your own if you like it so much_ , the Boss thinks, shoving Matt's spacesuit off his shoulders while he's distracted. _Shaundi dated a tattoo artist a while back, she says she still knows a few things_. He'd scrape his teeth across the ink in Matt's skin, return the favour; tats have never really been his kink before, but he pictures purple graffiti to offset Matt's sun-deprived complexion, and it makes his mouth go dry with _want_.

 

Jesus _fuck_ , he's got it bad for the nerdy twink. Johnny would've laughed himself sick if he'd been around to see it.

 

He's getting better at removing these spacesuit things in a hurry, though it doesn't make them any less of a crime against everything fashion stands for. Matt kicks off his shoes and steps out of the green material pooled around his ankles, grabbing the Boss by the collar he hasn't lost yet. He tugs insistently and the Boss lets him lead, spinning them around so the backs of his knees hit the crates.

 

"I assume there was something specific you wanted?" He feels his grin widen as Matt wrestles his own shirt over his head and throws it down with the rest of his clothes. "Just say the word, your wish is my command."

And-it has to be the NyteBlayde thing. Something about knowing he owns it all, that he has power over this show that means so much to him, is stripping Matt's uncertainty away layer by layer. What's left is a whole lot of uninhibited lust and enough confidence to let him shove the Boss down onto the crates and straddle him.

 

_Guess I did tell him to dream big_. He runs his hands over Matt's naked back, tilts his head and lets the kid steal all the rough kisses he wants. As displays of gratitude go, this sure beats the bouquets of flowers people felt a need to send him back on earth. He doesn't even fucking _like_ flowers.

 

Matt picks that moment to grind their hips together, slow, like he's trying it out to see how it feels, and it gets a lot harder to focus on anything that isn't the naked guy in his lap.

"You, uh, want to hop off for a second before we get _too_ friendly? Not sure you've noticed, but I'm still wearing clothes here." He gestures pointedly. Not that it matters; the zipper bares his skin from neck to groin, but it doesn't seem fair that only one of them is undressed.

Matt shakes his head."Forget it, I don't care. Waiting for you to get out of the simulation was hell, and I... Need you. Right now."

 

"Hey, hey, slow down a second," he slides a hand around the back of Matt's neck, rubs his hairline with a thumb so it feels less like rejection. "Trust me, you're not gonna enjoy this dry. We need-"

 

"I _know_ ," Matt says impatiently. "You were under for a good half hour after I left, I had time to- make preparations."

 

_Well then._ "You're going to be the death of me, kid, I swear." The Boss runs his hands up Matt's bare thighs, rubbing his hairs the wrong way, grabbing his ass and squeezing until he squeaks.

_Preparations, huh?_ _Fuck, you know how to get me going_. Matt hisses an impatient, "Hey!" when he doesn't just take what's on offer-and yeah, it's tempting. Dear _god_ is it ever tempting to let this new, bossy Matt just have his way, but the thing about arrogant little shits is that when you give 'em an inch, they take a mile. Keep him waiting, keep him off balance.

 

He lifts a hand to Matt's mouth, taps blue lips with his index finger until Matt's eyes widen and he _gets it_.

Keep him wanting. The Boss slides a couple of fingers into Matt's mouth and grins into dilated pupils.

"You gonna show me what you've got?" he asks. It's not necessary though, more for the sake of hearing himself talk. Matt grabs his wrist to keep it in place and sucks on his fingers like- well, that's something he'll save for another time, maybe.

 

A tongue flicks across the pads of his fingers and he closes his eyes for a moment. _Make that definitely. Screw 'morally okay', I shoulda had you on your knees in the middle of the Oval Office. Bent you over the President's desk and made you tell me all about MI6's latest demands. Swear to god I'd have been so much more accommodating._

He tugs his fingers free, rubbing a thumb across Matt's lips and smearing blue-tinged saliva over his chin. It's a good look on the guy. _Owned_. All he's missing is a purple collar; should have got him to leave his tie on.

 

"I haven't got all day you know," Matt says. He rocks his hips forward, rubbing up against the Boss' bared stomach. Can't seem to stop himself, or doesn't care enough to try.

 

"Did I say you could get mouthy?"

 

"I- No. But if you would just- hng," is as far as Matt gets before he's lifting his hips obediently, easing his knees apart. "No, Boss."

 

"There you go. You're catching on fast." He has to bite back a groan of his own as his fingers slide in easy, smooth as _cream_ ; looks like Matt's as methodical about this as he is about his precious code, and the image is just-

_Matt, kneeling on the double bed, working himself open with shaking fingers. He'd have his eyes closed, because it's always that bit less embarrassing if you can't see what you're doing, at least until you reach that magic point where you cease to give a fuck. Regretting how quick he has to be about it; he'd still have the doors to reprogram, the camera feed to loop. No way he planned all this in advance, so he must've had to rush._

_Wonder if he counted how many times he kept himself from moaning my name._

"Boss, _please_ ," and he registers Matt's nails digging into his shoulderblades, the unsteady breathing, and realises he's been teasing.

"Since you ask nicely," he says, easing his fingers loose, "And I'm feeling like a benevolent leader today..."

 

"I'll have your Nobel Peace Prize delivered promptly," Matt laughs shakily. "But if you take too much longer we're going to have to explain ourselves to an irate Kinzie, and diplomacy is _not_ my strong point."

 

"I thought these negotiations were going just fine." He tilts his head up to bite Matt's lower lip gently, tugging his thighs that much wider. It's not necessary though, not with Matt so fucking _pliant_ under his hands, like he knows what he wants and he'll do whatever he's told to get it. Obedience is still a novelty, and it's great look on him- but he has better ones.

"We good to go?" he breathes over the skin of Matt's neck, feels a pulse racing under his tongue. _Oh yeah._

 

"Yes, we're- okay, _god_ , um," and maybe the best part of this position is the front row seat he gets to the look on Matt's face, the way his eyes flutter closed for a few _seriously_ _hot_ moments and the tiny, blissful grin that forms at the corners of his mouth. And it doesn't fade when he opens his eyes, rolls his hips experimentally and feels the Boss' hands tighten on his ass. "We are very _definitely_ good to go."

 

"Guess you're in charge then, huh? Blow me away." Won't be hard, with how well he's doing already. Sweet Jesus this guy is wasted behind a desk at MI6. Zimos would _cry_ at the injustice.

 

In the ship's harsh light Matt's skin flushes red, exertion and embarrassment colouring him up where the smeared lipstick hasn't already reached. His breathing rings out loud in the enclosed space, the little moans he throws in with every thrust of his hips rising in pitch. He has one hand buried in the Boss' shoulder blade, black nails sinking viciously into his skin. The other angles behind him, gripping one of the Boss' thighs to give himself some leverage, and it'll be a miracle if that doesn't leave some interesting bruises for tomorrow.

 

"You got it, there you go. _Fuck_ that feels good, you feel fucking amazing-"

Matt's thighs tremble against the Boss' forearms; this has to be fucking killing him, he's not exactly made of steel, but there hasn't been a word of complaint so far. Just the messy, snatched  kisses and drops of pre-cum smearing over his abs as Matt grinds up against them. He wraps a hand around Matt's cock and jerks him off, matching the lift and _grind_ of his hips.

 

They're good like this. They have the timing worked out without words (fucking _lucky_ , because Matt's getting kinda incoherent and it's enough of an effort to keep up the encouragement he seems to appreciate without thinking too hard about _exactly_ how awesome it feels). They fit in a way that's honestly a little scary- and he doesn't just mean the sex. Sex is easy. He's had a lot of it in his time, and it's been great, but ultimately forgettable. He doesn't _do_ this kind of thing, where he knows the guy's name and plans to still know it in the morning. He doesn't run around simulations chasing vampires and talking about fucking _fanfiction_. Doing arbitrary errands and easing off on the gas when Matt starts freaking out about the pedestrians they're running over.

 

He hasn't _compromised_ since Johnny, and it feels like if he looks too closely at that thought it might just scare him shitless. So he doesn't. Not yet.

 

On a whim, he reaches up to kiss along Matt's jaw line to his ear. It must do something pretty goddamn special, having his neck touched; Matt's movements get erratic for a couple of seconds. He actually fucking _whimpers_ , which isn't something you hear every day. Sounds good coming from him though, and even better when he picks up the tempo again, fucking himself on the Boss' cock like it's a race.

"I must say, I rather enjoy seeing you like this," Matt says; where he gets the breath for it is a mystery, but he has this smug grin on his face that says he's not done yet. "At my mercy, subject to _my_ whims..."

 

_God I love it when you think you're charge_. He's done, he can feel that single perfect moment of no return, _right_ there where he wants it.

He flicks his tongue over Matt's earlobe to get his attention, just long enough to say, "Bite me," and as orgasm hits, " _NyteBlayde_."

And then Matt's arching in his lap, actually _yelling_ as he comes.

The Boss tightens his grip on Matt's hips, holds him in place while he shudders into stillness. There's a jubilant grin forming on his face, he can feel it; half golden, post-sex perfection, and the other half is something a lot more smug.

"You know," he says when it seems like Matt's in a fit state to listen, "I didn't actually think that would work."

 

Closing his eyes, Matt takes a few deep breaths, like it'll do anything to help. "I can _feel_ you judging."

 

"Oh, you can? Wow, and I was being so subtle about it."

 

" _Urgh_." Matt slumps forward to rest his forehead against the Boss' shoulder and effectively avoid eye contact. Now would be the _perfect_ time for some A grade teasing, a few jokes he can bring up again in future when Matt gets that much too arrogant about his own abilities. Shame that would require more effort than he can be bothered to spare. It's just easier to wrap his arms around Matt in a bear hug and enjoy the contact, at least before things start feeling a little too sticky.

 

"So how come you didn't just jump on me as soon as I woke up?" he asks to break up the silence. "What was with that whole...tension thing?"

 

Matt shifts restlessly in his lap, still carefully not looking him in the eye. "It was, um..."

 

" _Matt_."

 

"NyteBlayde Season Two, Episode Five, 'Cardinal Sin'", Matt says quickly. "A vampire coven proves too strong for NyteBlayde alone to handle, so he forms a sort of temporary truce with the Cardinal to destroy them. The scene in which they meet is, um... well, it fades to black, but much has been made of the locked doors and the heavy symbolism present in...I mean, many amateur authors have offered their own hypotheses as to how events may have proceeded-"

 

The Boss lets out a startled laugh. "Well fuck me. Did I just win myself a starring role in your very own _live-action fanfiction_?"

 

"For accuracy's sake I'd like to point out that it wasn't _mine_ , exactly, but the idea seemed to have potential, and I...um. You're not very happy about this, are you?"

 

"No, I'm _all_ about fulfilling people's dreams, with the probable exception of Kinzie, let's not go there, but a little warning might have been nice. You could have sent me a script, I'd have learnt my lines, got in the _zone_...maybe watched some of the actual show before starring in the porn parody." He's really not mad, and hopefully he's getting that across clearly enough. If anything he should have realised what was going on a lot sooner. But it's been a rough day for them both.

 

Matt leans into the Boss' hand as it rubs the back of his neck. "I just- after the fiasco in the simulation, I wanted to try something different. Something Zinyak couldn't take from me. Us."

 

"The Cardinal to your NyteBlayde, huh?" That earns him a reluctant smile from smeared blue lips.

 

"Something like that. Though a truly authentic Cardinal would be older and a lot more...um, homely. Sort of."

 

"Did you just call me too pretty to play your nemesis?"

 

"I suppose I did," Matt says, shifting uncomfortably. They're going to have to move soon, get themselves cleaned up and relocate before someone wants to know what the hell they've been doing. Like it's any of their damn business. "But given that I'm hardly the splitting image of NyteBlayde, we may have to...work with what we have."

 

_Improvisation, huh? I can do that. I'm fucking excellent at improvising. Hell, even Asha agrees, and getting a compliment from her is like pulling teeth from a grumpy tiger._

"So how'd I do?" he asks with a grin. "Would you hire me on for another episode?"

 

"I would. And I'd be more than happy to watch the reruns of this one any time I wasn't busy. And, um, stuck to you. Oh god."

 

"You're a Saint now, babe, I guarantee this is not the most worrying situation you'll ever find yourself in. Remind me to tell you all about the DeWynter pony barn sometime."

 

"Oh _god_."

 

"Pretty sure Zimos spent about a week bathing in hand sanitiser after we busted him out." He stretches, rolling his shoulders until Matt takes the hint and sits up carefully. "Come on, let's get cleaned up. Asha probably wants more simulations programmed-"

 

"Hah! Asha can bloody well wait. As the person charged with ensuring NyteBlayde's noble legacy lives on, it is my solemn duty to go and plan his new season, involving a dramatic and totally unforeseen reconciliation with the Cyprian Order through-"

 

"Uh-huh. That sounds good, just...try not to stay up too late. And don't fucking wake me up if I'm sleeping when you come to bed."

 

"I won't sleep for _days_ , there's so much to be done! New enemies for our hero to face, new allies to plan, a new-wait, what did you say?"

 

"You heard. And I'm warning you now, the deal's off if you snore, so _don't_."

 

Matt's wearing the same stunned expression from earlier, when he worked out the NyteBlayde franchise had just become his personal sandbox to play in. It's a good look on him, a cross between total disbelief and _awe_. Cute.

"I'll... I'll keep that in mind," he stammers."You won't notice I'm there, I- thanks."

 

"Regretting it already," the Boss says, steadying Matt as he stands gingerly. "Come on, that script won't write itself."

 

And he has plans of his own for the evening. Some R&R he figures he's _earnt_ , bonding time with the crew, check up on how everyone's coping.

The Boss distinctly remembers seeing a couple of Bloody Canoness posters up at Pierce's old crib in Steelport. Maybe he can fill in some of the NyteBlayde backstory over a few games of pool.

You never know when that might come in handy.


End file.
